A Collection of Unusual Tales
by Bob Hammilton
Summary: Life is a series of seemingly unrelated stories strung together in an unpredictable pattern. There are ups and downs. We share laughter and tears, without knowing the true effects of it. Sometimes there are none whatsoever. Here are some of those stories.
1. I dub thee: Snuffles

**-I dub thee: Snuffles-**

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><p><strong>Updates will probably be few and far between, sorry kids. I hope I keep up to standards when I <em>do<em> update. **

**Not all stories in this will be to everyone's liking but that's what happens when you shove a bunch of things, that have little relevance to each other, together.  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: I make no claim to the Harry Potter series or franchise. This story is only written for entertainment purposes.**

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><p>The smell of death and smoke still lingered in the air.<p>

His eyes roved the desolate horizon. A light breeze lifted the hair at his brow as he absorbed the woebegone landscape. Sadness settled in his heart. It weighed down on him, as just heavy as the sky and just as ever-present. The scars that tore the surface of the familiar scenery felt like cuts across his own heart. They pained him just as much as the gashes on his skin, just as much as the bruise on his chest. He found himself digging his nails into his palms; the pain didn't bother him in the slightest.

Pain. _Physical pain_. He could deal with that. He had always dealt with that. Physical pain was there, then it wasn't. It would come, often linger for a while, but eventually it would leave. Sometimes he would yearn for it. It would cleanse him, distract him at the very least. It always drew his attention away from the other hurt. Of course, it went away, it always did.

But the other hurt never went away. It never left. Forever insistent. It had always been there. From the beginning, he had felt its cold grip on his heart. The emotional pain. It something that he could never rid himself of. It was something that, no matter what, wouldn't heal. He despised the pain, he hated how it would control him. But the pain, he knew, made him human. If he didn't feel it, he would be just as bad as the one who had caused it.

But this level of emotional pain was one he thought he would never have to feel. It left him so thoroughly shocked that he felt short of breath. The grounds, the forest, the castle. All of them damaged. All of them tainted. Never the same again. The castle had taken a beating. Rubble collected around it like dust. Many trees lining the edge of the forbidden forest had been uprooted, most likely ripped out by giants. It seemed as though some spells had gone astray and what was left of the fires still smouldered. Though all the dead had been removed, the ground was still littered with the remnants of death. Blood and all sorts of other horrid things were strewn about.

War was much more horrifying in real life than you would ever see in the movies and vastly more disgusting. The smell was gag-inducing, but he managed to resist the urge. This had been his home. The only one he could remember having. He stood at the crumbling steps of the castle, gauging the extent of the damage.

Though he didn't want to see the rest, but he knew that he would have to. He made his way down the grassy slopes of the grounds. Each patch of bloodstained grass felt like a rusty dagger piercing his heart. Each uprooted or smouldering tree brought fleeting flashbacks of the previous night. He saw displaced chunks of grass and dirt everywhere.

He passed the lake, which was no better than the shore around it. If anything it was worse because no-one had bothered to remove the bodies from it. As he watched, the Giant Squid desperately made waves to attempt to push back the contaminated water. It was an increasingly futile struggle as the contaminants continued spread their taint over the water. Despite his absorption in his own self-pity Harry felt sympathetic towards the poor creature. He felt the need to help.

He started by removing what he could from the lake, which, in itself, was an arduous and repugnant task. He tried to force himself into a state of apathy towards the things he summoned out but it was very difficult. He rested most of the contaminants on the bank, not sure what else to do with them. After that he didn't know what to do. Should he vanish the tainted water? Was there something he could do to filter the water? Or should he somehow contain the polluted water before it could spread any further? What _could_ he do?

He knew that most of those options would require copious amounts of energy, energy that he just didn't possess at that time. He was exhausted, after all. Months and months of running and hiding were finally catching up to him. He knew that he couldn't possibly achieve such a feat of magic then. Summoning all those things out of the lake had been taxing enough, he just didn't have the capacity for those things in his exhausted state.

Unable to aid in any way, he flopped to the ground and lay there, allowing his self-pity to make a triumphant return now that he had no proper task to focus on. Half formulated thoughts floated through his head without any identifiable connection between them. Only the deafening crack of apparation was enough to startle him out of his wallowing.

Looking down a bulbous snout-like nose at him was a scrawny creature with a large disproportionate head and large bat-like ears. The small creature looked down at him with concern, then it croaked with a voice rather like a bullfrog. "Master should not be out here. Master should still be asleep," it said, somewhat reproachfully.

"Kreature … what?" Harry said in a voice thick with befuddlement. He hadn't seen his house-elf since the 'Final Battle' the previous night and even that had only been a brief glimpse. He didn't know why Kreature was there; Harry was positive he hadn't called Kreature. The elf looked down at Harry with a look that was all too familiar to Harry: exasperation. People always looked at Harry like that, for some reason. "Kreature's master is very stupid, sometimes," he muttered to himself, as per his usual habit.

"Master is tired and injured," the house-elf then stated, pointing to one of the cuts that ran along Harry's arm, "If master does not wish to sleep then he should go to the hospital wing to get his injures checked."

But Harry shook his sadly and sat up. "Madam Pomfrey has enough to deal with without me adding to her problems. They're not that bad anyway," he said with a dismissive shake of his head, then proceeded to address a sudden thought. "Kreature," he asked, "is there anything you can do for this?"

Kreature looked towards the lake that Harry was pointing at. He frowned as he assessed the situation. He glanced back at his master, "Kreature will need help," was his simple reply. There was a sharp crack as Kreature disapparated. Harry had to only wait 30 seconds before Kreature came back, this time with helpers.

The four house-elves arranged themselves around the edge of the lake and Harry could only watch as they raised their hands in unison. As they did so, the contaminants seemed to simply lift off the water and dissipated into thin air. "Thanks," Harry said, addressing all four. Three house-elves wearing tea-towels branded with the Hogwarts crest bowed/curtsied, without replying, and disapparated away. Kreature, however, stayed behind. He crossed his arms and glared at his master with a look that was highly reminiscent of the one Molly Weasley often gave to her children. One that almost had Harry cowering away from him.

"Will master go to the hospital wing now?" Kreature asked with a raised eyebrow, though it sounded more like an order to Harry. The raven-haired man raised his hands in surrender and said, "Alright, alright. I'm go …" Trailing off, he frown at something behind his servant. He cocked his head slightly to the side in confusion. He heard something, and as he was sure they should have been the only ones out there, this put him on high alert. He rose from the ground and drew his wand silently, pointing it over Kreature's shoulder. Kreature, however, didn't seemed worried at all. In fact, he approached the source of the sound fearlessly. Emboldened very little by Kreature's lack of fear, Harry followed Kreature until he could actually identify what the sound was.

Whimpering.

It was unusually loud in the silence of the empty morning. It seemed to be coming all the way from the edge of the Forbidden forest. His house-elf scampered over the the ground in a odd creeping fashion, sort of like a monkey. Harry wondered what happened to make him like that, as he had never really seen him run, except the night before. Maybe he had always ran like that? Or was it old age? Or could it possibly be a recent development? He'd have to ask later because he didn't really want his elf dying on him, especially now that they were on such good terms.

Kreature stopped. He stood before one of the uprooted trees of the Forbidden forest, waiting for Harry to catch up. The whimpering actually seemed to be getting quieter, whether it was from their presence or other reasons, Harry couldn't tell. The pathetic noises appeared to be coming from under the trunk of a tree. The house-elf looked up at his master questioningly. Harry, who had returned his wand it's home of his pocket long ago, nodded. Kreature stretched out his hands and slowly lifted them upwards, the tree trunk followed the same path and floated up off the ground. Still following Kreature's hands, the uprooted tree floated to the side and found a home on the ground again.

Under where the uprooted tree trunk had been was a small crater, where they found a small quivering ball of black fur. The whimpering was very soft now. Curiously, Harry kneeled next to the small crater and stretched a hand towards the quivering ball. It didn't even react to his touch. He picked it up and put it in his lap. It was a very skinny, very dirty, black puppy. One round brown eye opened and peeked up at him. The little creature looked quite small and miserable in his lap. That little brown eye tugged at his heartstrings and he soon found himself standing with the puppy clutched closely to his chest.

Harry looked at his house-elf and said, "Are the kitchens repaired?"

The elf only nodded in reply.

"Okay," Harry said, "let's get this little one fixed up."

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><p>"He's not there, is he?"<p>

She found that she didn't require an answer because one look at his face confirmed her fears. She collapsed onto a chair and stared into the sooty fireplace. From behind her shaking hands, she murmured, "But where could he be? He wouldn't willingly abandon us so soon after … everything. But what if- what if the death eaters somehow got to him?" She raised her widened eyes to her boyfriend as her voice simultaneously rose in hysteria.

Ron perched himself on the armrest of her chair and said, "C'mon Hermione, calm down. The fat lady wouldn't have let any in and besides, even if she did she would have told us. They wouldn't be organised enough to do anything to Harry after the final battle." Ron pried the witch's hands away from her face gently and pulled her up.

He had decided that, ultimately, dwelling on everything that had happened would not help anyone that he would operate normally until there was time to mourn. He would put other's feelings before his own. Thus calming down Hermione was his first priority.

"He probably just went for a walk. You know he likes to wander sometimes. But if you're really worried we can go look for him, okay?" He said, now resting his hands on her shoulders. Ron knew that Hermione had a good basis for her fears, considering all the time they had spent on the run. And, even though he didn't show it, he feared for the fate of his best mate. He knew how bad his girlfriend got when she was worried, though, so he kept a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Her tense stance only eased a little.

"Shouldn't we tell someone we're going?" Asked Hermione, throwing a sidelong glance at him as they climbed out of the Fat Lady's portrait. Ron grimaced at the very thought.

"Not mum," he replied with a jerky shake of his head, "maybe Bill or Dad. They wouldn't overreact like mum would."

"Overreact about what?" Inquired a voice behind them. They both whirled around and, out of habit, drew their wands. To their intense relief it was only Bill, who, by an odd coincidence, was the very person they needed. Hermione looked at Ron and raised her eyebrows, indicating that it was his duty to tell Bill.

"Well, it's just that … Harry's missing. We think he's fine," Ron explained hurriedly, "he does like to go off on his own a lot but we thought it best to find him … you know, just so we know where he is. And we thought that someone should at least know that we're looking for him."

Bill considered them for a moment, then nodded. He turned and bent over a large chunk of stone that had be blasted out of the wall but was still mainly intact. He studied it and the hole in the wall. With a sly glance out of the corner of his eye at them he said, "I'm going to assume that mother-dearest does not need to hear of this quite yet."

Ron looked slightly relieved as he answered, "That would be preferable." Turning their backs on him, Hermione could not help but tease him a little. "Preferable huh? Where'd you learn such big word?" She asked. Ron appeared to take it in his stride because he almost managed to grin and said, "I guess I've just been hanging around you too much."

Hermione blinked. Normally he would have been embarrassed or shot a withering comment back. Her Ron was really growing up. Once they reached the strangely deserted entrance hall Hermione asked, "Where do we look first?"

Not missing a beat, Ron said, "The kitchens."

"That's where you'd be but we're talking about Harry here," she said, very much aware of Ron's relationship with food.

"Well if he was in any sane frame of mind he would have gone there first," Ron replied.

Their eyes met. Both were doubtful that Harry was in any sane sort of mind when he had taken his 'walk'. But, with a kind of knowingly-blind optimism, they went to the kitchens. It was a weak hope that he would be there, or perhaps something else guided them there. That day, a lot of things seemed to happen coincidently to help them. Maybe it was just luck.

The two ex-students had soon made their way to the kitchen. Hermione reached a finger to tickle a pear, featured in a painting along the wall. It giggled, though it was bit more feeble than normal. Apparently even the paintings were feeling the strains of the final battle. Though the door swung open, just the same.

The kitchens seemed to be abandoned, except for two people sitting on one of the counter-tops. Well, a human and a house-elf, actually. "Harry!" cried Hermione in actual surprise, after all, they hadn't really thought he would be there. Harry looked up. He didn't smile but his eyes held a dim twinkle, as though, despite everything, he'd found something to be happy about. They both moved towards them and as they did so they heard a sound that was quite odd in the echoing silence of the Hogwarts kitchens: yapping.

Sitting on the counter next to Harry and in front of Kreature, who stood with his arms crossed on the floor, watching, was a little black puppy. The puppy was cheerfully lapping up a bowl of milk.

"Harry, where did you find it?" Asked Hermione.

"'It' is actually a him and I found _him_ outside the castle," Harry answered, watching the animal drink.

"You going to keep it?" said Ron after a short silence, broken only by the sound of a puppy's slurping.

"Well, I don't think he has an owner. When I found him he was cold, dirty and hungry. I don't think anyone owns him. He had no collar, after all."

"Yes, well, you'd better come back with us or else people will worry." Said Hermione briskly, her anxiety making her impatient. Harry reluctantly agreed, not really wanting to leave the serenity of the empty kitchen but not wanting to cause much fuss either. Kreature decided that his master was in good hands and went to see if his help was needed elsewhere. As they exited through the painting of fruit, Ron asked, "What are you going to call him?"

Harry thought about it for a moment.

"Snuffles," he decided, glancing down at the animal in his arms, "in honour of Sirius."

"I think he would like that," replied Ron, gently.

For now, the world did not seem so dark for Harry. Sometimes, good things can come out of the bad, if you bother stick around to see it. Though the appearance of the little creature only made the darkness a shade lighter, it was still something.

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><p><strong>Slightly edited version.<br>**

**Read and review, because I love to hear your opinions,**

**Bob.**


	2. The Infamous Exodus of Gred and Forge

**-The Infamous Exodus of Gred and Forge-**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am doing this story for entertainment purposes only.**

**My mood changes as much as much as a lady her clothes, which is why I deleted the first chapter. For some reason, it was annoying me. Oh well. And this chapter was going to be out weeks ago but life got in the way. Damn that intrusive Life. **

**Also excuse my blatant starkid reference. I just couldn't resist. Plus, I got kind of lazy at the end, don't eat me.**

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><p>Harry sat, cradling his mug of hot chocolate in one hand and holding his daughter with the other.<p>

The wireless perched upon the mantle hummed through the room not quite masking the quiet murmur of lazy conversations. The crackling fire kept out the creeping cold of the Christmas season. The smell of the previously eaten food still lingered in the air. The atmosphere was comfortable and he felt content. Without any conversation, idle or otherwise, to distract him, his eyes wandered. He saw his father-in-law lean over to his wife and whisper something in her ear. When he drew away she smiled back at him, drew her wand and flicked it at the old wooden wireless. The music that had been flitting around the room, did so no longer. Many people looked up in mild surprise. It was a rare thing for Molly Weasley to turn off the wireless so early in the evening. She normally had it going all Christmas eve.

Arthur looked at his family, drinking the genial atmosphere, then he spoke. "Do you know what I miss?" he asked with a gentle smile.

"Peace and quiet?" innocently inquired his eldest son to general amusement.

"Sometimes. You _are _a rowdy lot," he snorted, "but that was not what I was talking about."

"What are you talking about, then, Grampa?" asked Fred Junior rather impatiently from across the room.

"The stories. I used to tell your parents stories, all the time. Especially the one about the 'Boy-Who-Lived.'" he answered, giving his daughter an amused knowing look. But the kids just looked disappointed. "Grampa, we're too old for fairy-tales," moaned James, who sat on Harry's right and who appeared to wish to continue annoying his cousin Victoire, something that he'd been doing for the last half-hour. "Who said anything about fairy-tales?" asked the older Weasley rhetorically, "we've got many stories that are real and not lacking in action, you know."

"Like what?" challenged Rose, finally looking up from her book.

"Like the time Harry and I drove a car to Hogwarts," answered her father with a reminiscent grin on his face.

"You should have gotten expelled for that," said Percy dryly but without any real chagrin.

"Probably, but we didn't."

"You and dad did what?," asked James, perking up, looking back and forth between his uncle and father incredulously.

"They drove your grandfather's enchanted Ford Anglia to school," said Molly, shooting a disappointed look at the two men in question. Neither looked very remorseful, though.

"Now that's a story I have to hear," said Fred, nearly bouncing up and down on his seat.

"No." Said Molly sharply, "I'm not letting you get any more ideas."

There was a chorus of protests from the children – and George - at that. "Oh c'mon mum, it's not like they have an enchanted car," said Ron, with a roll of his eyes. But Molly dismissed that idea with a wave of her hand, "Pick another," she said.

Then George's head shot up. "I have a story," he announced.

"Oh really? Do share," replied his sister.

"You guys remember when Umbridge was toading around Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure 'toading' is not a word," said Harry.

George shrugged then said, "Then you guys will remember when Fred and I left Hogwarts?"

There was a somewhat stunned silence. The subject of Fred Weasley was normally a quite taboo one, especially around George. The idea of George bringing it up himself would have previously been considered absurd, as it was, most of the family stared at him incredulously. "Yes," said Hermione slowly, breaking the silence.

"Well, why do you tell that one?" He prompted.

"Are- are you sure, Georgie?" Asked his mother softly, reverting back to the old nickname she had used when he was a child.

"Yes," he said firmly, "he would have liked that."

No-one needed to ask to know that _he_ was Fred.

He-who-was-named-after-Fred, glanced between his grandmother and his father. Understanding the sensitivity of the subject, his question was tentative, "Can we hear that one, then?"

The rest of the children looked interested, but also a bit apprehensive, to Harry anyway. Unfortunately they knew very little of their late uncle, the subject being as painful as it was. The most he knew, that they knew, was that he and was a troublemaker and a prankster, and they he and George had created the joke shop. They also knew he tragically died in the 'war'. Any mention of Fred was brief and sad, so they had learnt to simply not ask. The other adults in the room also appeared wary, though, their apprehension was tinged with the sadness this conversation had reminded them of.

George, apparently deciding to ignore the decidedly grimmer atmosphere of the room, leaned forward and asked, "Alright. So you guys want to hear the infamous tale of the exodus of Gred and Forge?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "A long time ago, in a galaxy not so far away, there was a humongous and prosperous kingdom." Of course, only George would tell a story like that, or so Harry thought.

"This kingdom was called Hogwartia," George announced in a deep booming voice that he had adopted to sound impressive, though it only encouraged amusement. He ploughed on, "This kingdom's mighty monarch was the slightly loopy King Twinkle-eyes. The King had ruled over his kingdom for many centuries and the people loved him dearly." George paused and looked around at his audience for a moment. "But this story is not about King twinkle-eyes. In fact, King Twinkle-eyes had been dethroned a short time before this story began." He then grinned. "No, this story is about the noble … jesters: Gred and Forge. And, of course, the evil Queen Umbridge. It was _she_ who had dethroned the beloved King." It was clear that the younger part of his audience did not understand half of the words he used but, like the rest, listened in complete rapture anyway.

"Now, back to our two young, brave, dashing-"

"-don't forget stupid," interrupted his wife with a smirk.

"-Yes, thank yo-" he said, a little irritated, only to be interrupted again.

"-and immature. Don't forget that."

"Can I continue?" he asked, after his sister had said her bit. "Good," he said when no-one replied.

"Okay, so their younger and much less pretty sister," he began again, sticking his tongue out at his sister maturely when she glared at him. "beseeched the heroes to help her friend and long-time crush to contact his mass-murdering dogfather, the scoundrel Sirius Black." Harry could but smile – a little sadly – at the mention of his '_dogfather'_. He gazed around the room and noticed that his niece Rose was hoping up and down with her hand in the air, urgently waving. This was so highly reminiscent of her mother that his smile turned a little less sad. George noticed this and asked, "Yes, Rose?"

"Who was Aunt Ginny's crush?" She blinked at him.

George allowed himself a smirk before he answered. "Why is was none other than the marauder's son, the legendary Boy-Who-Lived. Of whom she had heard so many stories about." Many eyes flickered towards Harry, then back to George, clearly eager for the story to continue.

"The jesters Gred and Forge were friends of the Boy-Who-Lived, as well, so they decided to aid him. And, in order to do that, they decided to prank the Queen." He paused to let his audience to absorb this. "This would be their be last and greatest prank in the kingdom of Hogwartia."

"What did they do?" Asked James in a sort of hushed awe.

"Patience, young one," said George sagely, earning a few looks of disappointment. "This prank was to be outrageous, it needed to be so unusual, so unheard of that people would remember it for many generations after. Little did they realise it was not the prank that would be remembered but rather the spectacular and impromptu exit that followed." A reminiscent smile danced upon his lips. "And so, the next day, the two young jesters did a prank to rival the best." Here, he paused for suspense of dramatic effect. His audience waited with baited breath to hear his next words.

"They turned an entire region of Hogwartia into a swamp."

There was a long silence.

Eventually Roxanne's incredulous voice broke the quiet. "You're kidding me! A swamp? Is that really the best thing you could think of?" George's mock glare was withering, or as withering as George could be. "Would you have thought of it?" His child didn't reply. "Exactly. Besides it was a big swamp and," he smiled slyly, "it would take an expert of transfiguration to vanish, which Queen Umbridge was not." Harry privately thought that it the least of the 'toads' inadequacies. "But the queen was not going to let our poor heroes get away with turning part of her stolen kingdom into a marsh. And so, with the aid of the horrible inquisitorial squad, they cornered down the two tricksters." There were a few horrified gasps. "Oh yes," he nodded solemnly, "things were looking rather grim for them. With or without evidence Umbridge knew it was them. She had terrible punishments in store for them." He added a shudder for effect.

"But the jesters had always laughed in the face of danger … they were not afraid of the evil toad queen. The queen had gathered all the people from her kingdom to see her make a example of the two. Her faithful servant the terrible Filch was to gleefully carry out their punishments. 'So!' the tyrannical queen announced. 'So – you think it amusing to turn part of _my_ kingdom into a swamp?'"

George's grin stretched wide across his face. "Well, they _did_ think it was and told her so. Outraged, she call Filch forward and ordered him to carry out the punishment. But gred and Forge were not going to stick around to be punished by the queen. So Gred said, 'You know what? I don't think we're going to stick around for that.' He turned to Forge, 'You know, I think it's time to use our talents somewhere else, I hear Pigfarts has excellent weather this time of year.' And so, they drew their wands and summoned their broomsticks. They turned to the toad-like queen and bid her farewell. With a last wave and a bow, they mounted their brooms and took off into the glorious sunset. Leaving behind a legacy to rival the marauders themselves." He trailed off, the satisfied smirk never leaving his face.

"So, that's where that saying came from!" Burst out Teddy, the sudden realisation clear on his face.

George looked confused, "What saying?"

"The one about doing a 'Weasley'?" inquired Harry.

"Yeah."

"Wait," said George, raising his hands to interrupt them, "they made a saying about it?"

There were a few nods here and there from those who had remained to see the aftermath of the twin's legendary exit. George sat back in his seat, the wonder shining through his features. "And people still say it?" He asked after a moment of pride.

"Yep," answered Teddy, popping the '_p'._

"Awesome."

"Cool story but who's Umbridge?" asked Dominique from her perch on the arm of the chair. This caused most of the adults to share looks. "I think that's a story for another time," replied Ginny quietly, looking at her husbands hands and the faded scars that were etched there.

"Well … eggnog, anyone?" Arthur asked and received a chorus of answers in the affirmative.

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><p>Humans are creatures of habit.<p>

Tradition is often kept alive because we are to unwilling to let go of the familiar. We cling to old ideals and routines because change is unknown, and thus scary. But then things change and we forget our old habits. We grow up, grow old. Different circumstances, different times. And then the change is not so scary because you're on the other side. You've changed. But every so often you will look back wistfully and wish that you could go back. Relive those old traditions, just one more time. And sometimes you actually do. Because some traditions are worth bringing back.

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><p><strong>You know it takes less time to leave a review than to read the actual story and I, like most authors, want to know what you think of my stories. So please read and review,<strong>

**Bob.**


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